ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

 ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

I stand at the edge of your world,

Fingers trembling, as if holding a pen

Over the first blank page of a story untold.

No clever reason, no polished excuse

To mask the truth of why I reach for you—

Just a quiet ache, a whisper in the dark,

Wondering if there’s space for me

In the margins of your life,

Or if I’m destined to remain a footnote,

A name scrawled in haste, easily erased.  

Day by day, I turn the pages of your past,

Each chapter a map to buried treasure,

Each line a secret I long to decipher.

But the path is hidden, the X elusive,

And I am left tracing the edges,

Unsure if I’ll ever find the way in.

Still, I linger, a reader enthralled,

Hoping to understand the story

That has shaped the one I long to know.  

Inside my mind, I’ve already written us—

A tale of nearness, where you and I

Are vines entwined, roots intermingled,

Growing together through the seasons.

I see spring’s promise in your laughter,

Summer’s warmth in your touch,

Autumn’s reflection in our shared silences,

Winter’s quiet, where we find solace in each other.

But now, it’s the uncertain twilight,

Where day and night blur, and I cannot see the path.  

I carry my own chapters, worn and dog-eared,

Pages filled with triumphs and scars,

Ink smudged by time and tears.

I wonder if they would complement yours,

If our stories could merge like rivers,

Flowing together toward a shared horizon,

Or if they are too different, too jagged,

Destined to clash and tear at the seams.  

The thought of calling you lingers,

Like a half-formed melody I cannot shake.

I imagine dialing your number,

But my finger hovers over the keys,

Unsure if my voice can bridge the miles,

If my words can carry the weight of what I feel.

They seem too small, too fragile—

Like paper boats sent adrift on an ocean of doubt,

Hoping to reach your distant shore.  

Yet in my dreams, we are already there,

Tangled in each other’s names,

Our laughter echoing through sunlit rooms,

Calendar pages turning, marked by our love.

I see us on distant horizons,

Where the sky meets the sea in a seamless line,

And time stretches out, endless and ours.

But doubt creeps in, a shadow on the wall,

Whispering that perhaps there’s no space for me,

That your story is complete without my chapter.  

Still, I stand here, at the precipice,

Hoping that one day, you’ll extend a hand,

Invite me to step into the narrative,

To write our story together, page by page.

For now, I wait, a traveler at the gate,

With nothing but transparent intentions

And a heart that beats in time with yours,

Even from afar.